by T. A. White
“You blame yourself for their deaths.” It wasn’t a question. Not just theirs; everybody who went on that mission. “You must know that you would have probably suffered the same fate had you stayed with them.”
She lifted one shoulder. “Maybe, maybe not. I do know that none of us would have been there, if not for me. I planned that expedition, everything that happened can be laid at my feet.”
He arched one eyebrow, his expression understanding and chiding. “That’s an arrogant assumption.”
She scowled at Fallon.
“Did you force them to come, or were they volunteers?”
Shea’s quiet was answer enough.
“They chose to be there then. You can’t take their fate on your shoulders. That way lies madness and is an insult to who they were.”
Shea scoffed. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same responsibility for your men. I’ve seen you with the battle reports. You feel every death.”
“Of course. That is part of a leader’s responsibility, but I never make the mistake of shouldering the blame for their deaths. They chose to be here. They chose to follow me. I feel their deaths because they laid them down to defend my vision, but I don’t assume the guilt for them. That would desecrate the sacrifices they made.”
Shea looked away. She’d never considered it in that manner before. Always before, the deaths of the thirty men and women who had followed her into the Badlands was a weight dragging her down. A reminder that the last time she commanded people she’d failed them in every way possible.
“I’ve learned that sometimes, despite all your planning and training, things go wrong. Plans fall apart, and people sometimes die. That doesn’t mean we give up. It means we fight harder for what we want, that we take life by the throat and force it to surrender.”
It was an inspirational speech, but Shea wasn’t sure how much inspiration she could draw from it. The end result remained the same. Others died while she still lived.
“This beast call they’re concerned about. Is it possible that you picked one up and didn’t realize it?” Fallon asked.
Shea shook her head. “I don’t remember picking anything up, and I didn’t have a pack when I was discovered.”
“You said you were disoriented and delirious when they found you. It could very well be that one of those that first encountered you took the beast call without you being aware of it.”
“Anything is possible when it comes to the Badlands, but it’s highly doubtful.” She’d known every person on that discovery party for years. Many of them related to her in some way. It just didn’t seem likely.
“Either way, this beast call sounds like it’s the reason for the problems my men have been having in recent months.”
She was afraid of that. It meant she could guess the next words out of his mouth.
“We’re going to answer the pathfinders’ summons,” Fallon said, his mouth a grim line. There was a fierce light in his eyes as if to say he was looking forward to it. “If what they think is true and there is a mastermind setting the beasts on my men, I want to know.”
“It’s not going to be that easy,” Shea tried. The last thing she wanted to do was to send Fallon and his men into the Highlands. She didn’t think that would be good for them or the Highlands.
He gave her a fierce smile. “It never is. That’s what makes it so fun.”
“You’re not going to let me talk you out of this, are you?”
She really wished he would. He had no idea what was in store for him there. Nothing good would come of this. She was almost sure of it.
*
Fallon waited until Shea had set off to check on the friends she had among the Trateri before turning back to the tent containing Reece.
He stopped next to the Anateri guarding the entrance. “Let no one inside. Not even Shea.”
The Anateri shared a glance before giving a nod to show they understood.
Fallon ducked inside, his eyes immediately drawn to the prisoner. Reece had moved from the chair to the cot where he reclined with his hands folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling as if he could see beyond it to the sky above.
Fallon had caught Shea staring at the sky on more than one occasion but had never asked what so fascinated her. Seeing Reece do something similar reinforced the relationship between the two—a relationship Fallon found himself mildly jealous of, a feeling he wasn’t comfortable or familiar with.
“I’ve noticed Shea always looks to the sky in moments of rest or when she needs reassurance. It seems you do something similar. Why is that?” Fallon asked with a casual voice.
Reece didn’t stir from where he lay, simply turning his head slightly to keep Fallon in view. “Does she now? That’s interesting. I hadn’t realized.” He fell quiet again. Fallon waited with all the patience of a hunter, one accustomed to letting his prey set its own trap. “It’s probably a remnant of our training. The sky is an ever-changing canvas, but for those who know where to look, you can find set points that can tell you your location.”
“Like the West and East stars,” Fallon said. His people used the night sky to navigate as well. There was a star in the east and a star in the west that never changed its position in the sky. Using them, you could always be assured of the direction you were traveling.
“Just so.”
Fallon studied the other man, noting the micro expressions in his face and the way his eyes slid away from Fallon’s.
“You’re lying.” Fallon was sure of it. “I have no doubt that she and you can navigate by the stars, but that’s never her first choice. They’re good for a general direction check but useless during the day.”
Reece stared at Fallon for a moment, his thoughts hidden. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”
Fallon crossed his arms, not perturbed in the least by the insult. He’d endured much worse things said about him. If the other man thought to gain information from Fallon’s loss of temper, he’d have to work much harder at his insults.
Reece sat up. “When we were children, Shea spent much of her time training in the various pursuits her parents deemed worthy of a pathfinder. She took it very seriously. Even back then she was focused and driven. It left little time for play.”
“Were you not in the same training?” Fallon asked.
Reece’s smile was humorless. “More or less, but my parents didn’t expect the same level of excellence of me. They used to send us out into the wilderness, with little more than a compass and knife for survival. Shea and I would entertain ourselves by watching the clouds and telling stories using the shapes we found there.”
Fallon found himself fascinated by this rare glimpse into Shea’s childhood. He’d noticed when she told him stories of her journeys, that they were always about the places she’d visited and the things she’d seen. There was rarely much insight into her as a person. He was charmed by this bit of whimsy Reece had revealed. It made him wonder if she would tell their children stories set in the clouds when it came time.
“But you didn’t come here to hear more about our childhood,” Reece said, with a canny look.
Fallon arched an eyebrow, grimly amused. “Guess you’re smarter than you look as well.”
Reece’s quirk of the lips was less than humorous. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”
Fallon grabbed a chair and pulled it over so he could sit facing Reece. He settled into it and observed Reece, letting the other man feel the full weight of his regard.
“I want to talk terms,” Fallon said, letting the other man see his resolve.
Reece’s lips broadened into a smug smile, the kind the cat gave a mouse that had just played into its paws. Fallon felt a small tug of amusement at the other man’s assumption that he had everything under control. Many men had thought similar things before, yet the Warlord was always the one to come out ahead. Reece and his fellow pathfinders would soon learn the full meaning of what it meant to poke a warlord.
CH
APTER EIGHTEEN
IT WAS nighttime before Shea made her way back to her tent after checking on her friends. They were lucky. They’d come through the attack with minor injuries. Clark and Charles had been in the underbrush tracking down those Trateri who hadn’t made it back to the starting point at the assigned time. Once they’d heard and seen the attack, they’d led those with them to shelter under the web of roots from the soul tree. Neither one had suffered any injuries.
Eamon and Buck had been less fortunate. Both had been in one of the fields competing when the attack began and instead of taking cover had rallied those around them into small groups to harry the birds. Both had taken minor injuries. Buck would have a scar from his shoulder to the middle of his chest from the eagle’s claws as a reminder.
She was just glad they were safe. She didn’t need even more deaths to feel responsible for. Though according to Fallon, she had assumed a responsibility that wasn’t hers to begin with.
Both Trenton and Wilhelm were a silent presence at her side throughout. She was too tired to resent their presence.
She stepped inside her tent after murmuring a greeting to the Anateri standing guard. Trenton, her ever present shadow, stopped to have a discussion with them as she pushed her way inside.
Darius, Braden, and several of the clan leaders were gathered around the dining table, maps spread out before them. Everyone was still dressed in their battle armor and armed with weapons.
Fallon looked up at Shea from where he leaned against the table. He nodded his head at the plate by his side.
Shea was tempted to just keep walking. The events of the day had drained her. She didn’t know if she had it in her to sit through whatever this was. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the morning meal.
She walked to Fallon’s side. He nudged the plate piled high with her favorite foods her way as Darius gave a status report.
“We lost twenty during the attack,” he said, looking around the table. “Most of those were unable to defend themselves—the old or the very young. A few warriors but mostly noncombatants.”
“A relatively minor amount, considering some of the battles we fought down south,” Van said, his face pulled into a frown.
“The problem is the blow to morale.” Braden’s serious gaze touched on Shea before moving on. “Our people take attacks aimed at our heart seriously. They will be out for blood once they’ve recovered their equilibrium.”
“My men are already threatening to lead a war party to these eagles,” an unfamiliar man said. Shea guessed he was the clan leader for Ember or Rain. She wasn’t sure which.
“They’ll have to travel quite a ways,” Shea inserted, after swallowing the piece of meat in her mouth.
“And you are?” The man’s gaze was cold as he observed Shea the way one might a bug.
She didn’t let his tone deter her, used to it by now. “Someone familiar with the golden eagles’ territory and habits.”
She pulled one of the maps closer to her. They’d chosen one that represented most of the Broken Lands, though the spaces where the Badlands and the Highlands should have been were mostly blank. Just a few mountains drawn in, with the Trateri sign for danger interspersed throughout.
“They make their nests in the mountains near here.” Shea pointed to a spot at the top of the map, well past their known landmarks; it was just blank space. In reality, their home was further north than she’d indicated, but she thought this made her point quite nicely. “To get to them, you’d have to climb Bearan’s Fault before walking a few hundred miles over extremely rough terrain until you reach the passes that make up the Dragon’s Tooth mountain range—it spans three hundred miles—and then cross the plains of Eire. You’ll be easy pickings for the eagles on those plains, but perhaps you’ll get lucky.”
The other man’s gaze was even more remote and cold when she finished. She didn’t let that bother her, preferring to keep him and his men alive rather than make a friend.
“The golden eagles are not the enemy,” Fallon said, his gaze challenging the other man. “They are just the weapon our enemy has chosen to wield.”
“It seems our enemy has many weapons to choose from,” the other man returned. He lifted his chin in challenge.
All he needed was to flare his nostrils and stomp his feet and he’d look exactly like a bull male skarrygh facing-off with another for the right to rut with his chosen female.
“Gawain.” Henry’s voice held a warning.
The man’s eyes shifted to Henry, but held no less challenge. “I am simply making an observation. The Hawkvale promised us riches and spoils to make up for abandoning our ancestral lands. Since coming to this forsaken place, I have seen little evidence of either.”
“Perhaps, had your people joined us sooner and not waited until we were already victorious, they might have taken a piece of the wealth the rest of us split for ourselves,” Ben said. The head of the Earth Clan’s voice was calm and even. He didn’t spare a look for Gawain and instead remained focused on the maps in front of him.
“So we could face dishonorable deaths?” Gawain arched one eyebrow.
Shea stiffened at that assertion. She did not like the insinuation that dying at a beast’s claws was dishonorable. She’d known many men and women who fell to beasts. This man with his superior attitude wasn’t going to disparage them. Especially when he probably had little to no experience with beasts.
“What’s dishonorable about it?” Shea asked, her gaze direct. He wasn’t the only one who could be challenging. The clan heads glanced at her, some with disdain, as if to say she had no place talking in these meetings. She continued before anyone could stop her. “Tell me. What is so dishonorable at dying at the claws of a beast?”
His response was a derisive stare.
No answer. That was alright; Shea had plenty to say.
“When’s the last time you fought off a revenant pack with nothing but your sword and a few good men?” He didn’t answer. The table was dead silent. “How many eagles did your men bring down? Because the Wind Division brought down two, but not before three men gave their lives to protect women and children. What’s so damn dishonorable about that?” Shea’s chest heaved as she shouted the last words. She refused to look away from Gawain, whose expression had soured as she continued.
When she had made her point, she looked around the table, noting those who met her eyes and those who looked away. Henry, Darius and Braden weren’t afraid to hold her gaze. Ben gave her a small nod of respect. Van looked away. The last man, one of the new clan leaders she’d yet to be introduced to, looked mildly interested.
Shea’s hands shook ever so slightly where they rested on the table. She hated losing her temper. It always felt like she’d overreacted, and she was left dealing with the fallout.
Fallon’s hand slid over one of hers and he gave it a slight squeeze. She glanced at him to find him regarding his clan leaders with an impassive expression.
After a long moment in which no one spoke, Fallon said, “I have a pathfinder in my custody, one who has had much to say about the recent increase in beast activity and the emergence of the mist.”
All eyes turned to Shea, suspicion in several of them. She gave them her best Fallon impression, channeling an impassivity that she didn’t feel. Her stomach was tight with nerves and a sense of dread.
“How convenient that you’ve found one of these people so soon after the attack,” Gawain said, carefully avoiding looking at Shea.
She narrowed her eyes at him. He might not have overtly indicated her as the architect behind this, but she got the point.
Fallon ignored his words. “This person has indicated the pathfinders may have knowledge to share about these attacks.”
Shea kept her surprise off her face. He hadn’t said anything about the beast call or the possibility that the pathfinders might be the ones behind this.
“I’ve decided to take a force into the Highlands at their invitation
to see what we can uncover and if there are any weapons we might take advantage of.” Fallon’s tone invited no dissent.
“Why can’t she tell us what we need to know?” the strange clan leader said, jerking his head at Shea.
“Shea has already shared her knowledge,” Fallon said, the words little more than a growl.
“Rather freely, in fact,” Braden said, surprising Shea. “Ember, you should send some of your vanguard to the beast class she started. They could do with picking up a few pointers.”
If he was Ember, then Gawain must be Rain.
“I will keep that in mind,” Ember said with an interested nod.
“If you ladies are done trading secrets, could we get back to the point at hand?” Van complained.
“I am not sure I see the purpose in leading a force into the Highlands,” Ben volunteered, his mouth pulled into a somber line. “You’ve already stated previously that there is no easy way to get the men, mounts and supplies we need into the Highlands.”
“That’s true.” Fallon braced his hands against the table. “I’ve recently learned there might be an alternate route.”
Shea stiffened and her gaze swung toward Fallon to find his eyes resting on her. She held his gaze for a moment. Surely Reece hadn’t told him about the caverns.
The knowledge was there in Fallon’s eyes. Shit, he had. How serious was this for the pathfinders to let that knowledge fall into the hands of outsiders? And how likely was it that they would let those same outsiders live once they’d fulfilled their role?
Fallon pulled the map towards him and pointed to a spot fifty miles west of the Badlands. “This pathfinder claims there are caverns that lead right up into the Highlands. It’s supposed to be considerably easier to navigate than the cliffs, and we’ll be able to take the mounts and supplies.”
The men stared at the spot he pointed at.
“Why weren’t we made aware of this before?” Ben asked.
Fallon’s council leveled gazes heavy with accusation on him. There was the feel in the air that Shea sometimes sensed right before a storm. The mood was about three breaths from violence.
